I talk about how grief isn’t a straight line — how some days you feel like you’re making progress, and others, you’re right back in the worst part of it. I talk about the people who surprise you, who step back into your life when you least expect it and somehow make the air feel easier to breathe.
I don’t say his name. I don’t have to.
The words just come, unspooling in a way they haven’t in weeks. I’m not even glancing at my notes — I’m just… here. Present. Speaking from somewhere that feels softer, warmer, less weighed down.
When I finally stop, I realize my cheeks ache from smiling.
I hit save, then lean back, the quiet of the room settling around me.
The only thing that’s changed between yesterday’s block and today’s flow is Damien.
I’m just wrapping my mic cord when my phone buzzes on the stool beside me.
Damien:Come over when you’re done.
No punctuation, no explanation. Just like him — short, to the point, and somehow still managing to make my pulse pick up.
I step out of the booth and glance toward the kitchen window, already wondering what excuse I can give my mom for darting across the street.
That’s when I see her. She’s standing at the living room window, her hands resting on the sill, eyes fixed across the street.
Curious, I move in beside her.
And there he is.
Damien Lawson, pushing a mower across the front lawn of his parents’ old house, bare skin gleaming in the pale winter sun. Sweat darkens his hair, muscles shifting under his skin with every step.
He’s all broad shoulders, tight abs, and forearms that flex in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
My mom leans closer to the glass like she’s trying to see better. “Well,” she says under her breath, almost to herself, “that’s a sight.”
I bite back a laugh — and a groan. Because she’s not wrong.
The problem is, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to look him in the eye when I walk over there without picturing exactly what he looks like right now.
The mower sputters to a stop as I step onto the edge of his driveway. He straightens, dragging the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a streak of grass and sweat.
For half a second, I think he’s going to smirk, say something about me staring. That’s what I’m ready for — something light, playful.
But then his eyes lock on mine, steady and unreadable, and his voice is nothing but serious when he says, “There’s something I need you to know.”
The heat in my chest chills instantly, replaced by the kind of prickling dread that makes it hard to swallow.
I force myself to nod, even though every instinct tells me to turn around and pretend I didn’t hear him.
Because I know — whatever he’s about to say, it’s not small.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Damien
Iturn the mower off and motion for her to join me on the porch. She rests against the railing, and I hang back at the steps. I can’t make myself move any closer to her. If I do, I might lose my nerve and completely back out of what I’m about to say.
Her brows draw together, a question in her eyes. “What is it?”
I take a breath that doesn’t do a damn thing to steady me. “I want to tell you about Aaron.”
Her expression freezes, and I know there’s no going back now. So I just let it out.
